


Fuck You, Cthulhu

by MalMuses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Universe, Case Fic, Consentacles, Crack Treated Seriously, Cursed Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has Tentacles, Fluff and Crack, Friends to Lovers, Hunt Gone Wrong, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-10 18:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalMuses/pseuds/MalMuses
Summary: Kill the cultists, get the girl, back to the bunker...wake up as a Davy Jones knock-off.Shit.Dean's having a bad week.





	1. You've Gotta Be Squiddin' Me

**Author's Note:**

> It's tentacletober, my friends! If you know me, you were probably expecting either tentacle porn, or something cuddly. Well, I guess I'm kind of giving you...both? 
> 
> This is a silly, short, crack-treated-seriously canon 'verse fic, which I'll post a chapter of every few days over the month. I'm going to hit quite a few of the spn tentacletober prompts, though not in order - I hope you'll forgive me for that!
> 
> My hope is that this little fic will be a tentacle fic even non-tentacle folk can find some entertainment in. 
> 
> Thanks, as always, to [andimeantittosting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting), who puts up with me more than I deserve.
> 
> \- Mal

“Okay, but what _ are _ you?” Sam asked, squinting hard across the war room table to where Dean sat.

Dean bristled, crossing his arms—such as they were—across his chest with a perturbing slapping noise. “I’m still me, asshat!” The bucket of water that his feet (if they could be called that anymore) were submerged in sloshed as he stamped childishly.

“Dean,” Castiel chastised, getting up for the third time that morning. “Please try not to splash everywhere. I realize that this is frustrating for you, but we’re running out of dry towels. If I have to do laundry again, that’s precious research time we’re wasting.”

Dean sighed, slithering down in his seat. He was definitely more slithery than usual. Almost boneless, in fact. “Sorry, Cas,” he muttered, turning his eyes back down to the table.

Castiel stepped away from the table to grab one of the bunker’s many bath towels from a conveniently placed pile on a chair near the door. They’d soon realized, after Dean had woken up this way three days before, that mop-rag access in all rooms of the bunker was entirely essential. It wasn’t just that Dean left sloppy splashes everywhere, it was also that he…well, neither Sam nor Castiel were about to mention it out loud, but he was a little…slimy.

“If we can return to the important question,” Sam said softly, “it’s kinda hard to find a spell to turn you back when we’re not really sure what you actually are.”

Dean’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve told you everything I know, Sam, okay?”

Sam held up his hands defensively. “I’m not saying you’re keeping anything from us, Dean. I’m just asking if there is any chance you forgot something…maybe something that the hot chick with the tentacles was involved in, in some way?”

Dean stood up angrily, pushing his chair back. He proceeded to storm off…at least as much as someone could when they had to hop along a path of buckets that led from the war room to their bedroom. It was less ‘storm’ and more ‘damp squib’, but dammit, he had his dignity.

Standing in a large, family-sized casserole pan of water next to his bed, he admitted he wasn’t so sure about that last part.

“Cas!” he called out.

“Yes?” Castiel said from right behind him. He had, of course, followed.

Dean went to press a frustrated hand to his face, a frequent habit when he had four perfectly normal limbs. But all he succeeded in doing was slapping himself wetly in the face with a tentacle.

Behind him, there was a soft, aborted chuckle.

“Don’t you start,” Dean complained. “It’s bad enough that I look a rubber stunt-double from _ The Thing from the Deep _ without you making fun of me, too.”

“I apologize,” Castiel said solemnly, picking his way around the casserole pan to stand in front of Dean. “What did you want, Dean?”

“I just…” Dean trailed off, waving a hand feebly at his memory foam. “I’m not even going to be able to lay down without drying up, am I? It’s been three days, I want a damn nap.”

To his credit, Castiel’s small smile was genuinely apologetic. “It seems not. Now that the curse—or spell, or whatever this is—has fully taken hold, being out of water for even a few moments seems to be very uncomfortable for you.”

Dean nodded mutely, his eyes dropping.

“Perhaps…” Castiel said thoughtfully.

Dean looked up, raising one eyebrow at the angel as he turned to regard Dean’s bed, his head tilted.

“Wait here,” Castiel said decisively, turning and marching out of the room.

“Sure,” Dean said quietly to himself, sighing. He squelched his way over to the desk, where Sam had placed a plastic tub of water earlier that morning. It was at least comfier than the casserole pan, and caught more of his drips. “Where else am I gonna go?”

~~~~~

“There,” said Castiel, sounding oddly proud. He crossed his arms, smiling down at the plastic mattress cover he’d hunted up from the infirmary, and the pile of deliberately-soaked blankets at the end of the bed.

“Pretty sure that’s a bed cover for people who piss themselves, Cas,” Dean grumbled. “I’m a little past that stage of my life.”

“Are you?” Castiel questioned sassily, eyeing the drips that surrounded Dean’s bucket.

“Oh fuck you, man.”

Despite Dean’s reticence, he was grateful for the angel’s care. Sam was doing his best, but he found the situation so hilarious he could barely look at Dean without smirking. Cas, at least, didn’t seem particularly fazed by Dean’s tentacle makeover, only amused by Dean’s bratty reactions to it.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean mumbled, slithering his way up onto the mattress. It was uncomfortable for just a moment, but then Castiel carefully covered him with the first wet blanket and his skin slurped it up like a sponge, softening gratefully.

“It’s quite alright, Dean,” Castiel answered gently. “I want you to be comfortable. If you’d like to sleep, I can change your blanket every thirty minutes or so, remoisten it.”

“Ugh, don’t use that word.”

“Moist?”

“Gross, yes.”

“Well, Dean, you are rather—”

“Yes, I know, I know,” Dean complained. “I’m disgusting, okay, I get it.”

Castiel frowned, lowering himself to perch at the edge of the mattress with a plasticky crinkle. “Dean, that’s not true. You’re still you. I understand that Sam is somewhat entertained by your appearance, but it doesn’t change who you are.”

Dean snorted quietly into his oddly hard, plastic-coated pillow. “And you’re not? You’re trying to say that you’re lookin’ at me right now and thinking that these things”—he waggled a few tentacles angrily—“are great? Good look there, Dean, you’re gonna get all the ladies.”

“Well, I don’t know about human ladies,” Castiel admitted, reaching over to pat Dean’s slimy shoulder where it rested under his damp blanket, “but I should think female cephalopods would be delighted by you.”

“Get out!” Dean roared.

~~~~~

Dean woke to Castiel tugging another wet blanket up over his shoulder. He was moving slowly, the gentle motions of someone trying not to disrupt the sleep of the person they're caring for.

“Apologies,” came Castiel’s voice in the dim light. “You were getting a little dry—I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Never one who was happy to be disturbed in the mornings, Dean made a grumbling noise as he slowly lowered his head back down to his pillow. “S’alright,” he said thickly, his voice heavy with sleep. “I appreciate you doin’ it, Cas.”

“I’ve been switching the blankets every thirty minutes or so. Is that keeping you comfortable?”

Dean nodded, his bed giving a plasticky squeak at the motion. “Yeah, it’s not too bad. Have you been here the whole time?”

Castiel paused, looking vaguely uncertain in the weak lamplight from the nightstand.

“I’m not gonna be mad at you,” Dean added with a sigh.

“Then yes,” Castiel confessed. “I know that you object to my presence while you are sleeping. But I’m concerned that we don’t know the full extent of what happened to you, and I’m hesitant to let you out of my sight.”

Despite his boneless limbs, despite his slimy skin, despite his slightly ‘off’ odor and damp—dammit, _ moist _—complexion, Dean gave a small smile up at Castiel. “Thank you,” he said simply. “Honestly, I—I don’t really want to be alone right now, anyway. This is freaky.”

Castiel gave a low chuckle, relaxing back into the chair beside the bed. It angled toward Dean, and he leaned back and crossed his ankles, seemingly content to maintain his vigil. “I’m sure it is ‘freaky’ for you, Dean.” He didn’t do the air quotes, at least. “So, I’ll stay. I’m here if you need me.”

Dean concentrated, wiggling one of his tentacles across the air between them and just managing to catch Castiel’s wrist. He gave it a little squeeze. “Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome,” Castiel responded quietly. He looked down at the tentacle in surprise.

“Sorry,” Dean said, removing it as quickly as he was able. The sucker-covered fuckers were kinda wild and unpredictable; they sure didn’t work like arms and legs did. “I’m sure you don’t want me touching you right now.”

“Why?” Castiel asked bluntly, frowning. “I was surprised that you chose to, but as I said, your current appendages aren’t unpleasant, Dean.”

“What you _ said _ was that a lady octopus was the only thing that would want to do me,” Dean grumbled.

“Well that’s just not true,” Castiel replied with a softly amused smile. He reached over, grasping the tentacle Dean had used in place of a hand. Gently, he drew it up to his lap, plopping it down on his knee, neat dress pants be damned. It leaked a damp patch around his kneecap almost instantly, to Dean’s embarrassment. Petting the limb like it was some kind of hairless, slightly slimy cat, Castiel looked back at Dean and said, “I find the feel of them quite pleasant.”

Dean opened and closed his mouth, not even sure where to begin with that.

“Go back to sleep, Dean,” Castiel said, stroking softly. “Sam is working on a solution, and he called Rowena to assist. She’ll be here tomorrow. Until then…just rest.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go, chapter one!
> 
> Prompts used: Surprise Tentacles, Accidental Tentacles.
> 
> Will you come along on this silly journey with me? There will be fun, frolics...and some light angst, but really, we're all here just to watch Dean in his buckets, right?
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. I love responding to your comments!
> 
> \- Mal <3


	2. Don't Worry, We're Well-Armed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I am, back with chapter two - there will likely only be a few days between chapters of this story, so you will have the whole little adventure sooner, rather than later.
> 
> Thank you to [andimeantittosting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saylee/pseuds/andimeantittosting) for her speedy, thorough beta skills <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy todays installment of our bucket-hopping adventure!
> 
> \- Mal <3

“Get those things away from me!” Rowena shrieked, somehow still managing to sound elegant, even as Dean swatted in her direction with his front two tentacles. He was getting much better at controlling them.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Dean reassured her.

“I didn’t think that you were,” Rowena said prissily, smoothing her green velvet skirt down the backs of her thighs as she returned to perching next to Sam on the other side of the table. She fixed Dean with a glare, placing down a tray of coffee mugs. “But you smell like fish, and it wafts!”

Pushing down the wave of humiliation, Dean retracted his tentacles into his bucket. He’d only wanted to grab some caffeine, damn it.

Castiel reached across and picked up one of the mugs, sliding it in front of Dean wordlessly. From his pocket, he produced a paper-wrapped straw, ripping open the end and tapping it on the table to nudge it out of its cover, before he popped it into Dean’s mug. It wasn’t the first time in his life that Castiel had produced odd, but timely, items from within his trench coat pockets.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean said, shaking his head with a grin. “You’re like a freakin’ magpie.”

That earned Dean a frown. “I am no such thing,” Castiel said, sounding offended. “I’m a strategist. Magpies are scavengers. It’s an entirely different thing.”

“Don’t get your feathers in a ruffle,” Dean said, waving a tentacle in frustration. “I was just saying thanks.”

“Seriously, Dean,” complained Sam. “Stop waving those! You’re dripping on the almanacs.”

“Well none of these stupid  _ almanacs, _ ” Dean hissed, using the suckers on his left side to grab one and shove it across the table, “are doing us any good!”

The table fell quiet at his little outburst, and Dean look a brief moment to breathe before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry, okay? But you all think this is hilarious and gross and—well, I’m the one living it, okay? I just want my arms and legs back.” Dean kept his eyes focused on the table, sliding another book over toward himself in resignation.

“I get it,” Sam said quietly, managing to sound genuinely apologetic. “Why don’t we call it a day, for now? We’re all getting cranky; coffee isn’t really enough at this point. We should get some rest and then tomorrow we should head back to Innsmouth.”

Castiel nodded, and Rowena gave a hum of agreement.

“Yes,” she said, “that seems wise. We may need to return to the source to work out how to rid Dean of this.”

“How are we going to get Dean there?” Sam asked.

“He can drive behind us with Castiel, in the truck,” Rowena suggested with a smirk. “They can put a paddling pool in the back.”

With that, Dean slammed his book shut and stood, sloshing his way angrily out of his table bowl and into the first of his trail-to-the-bedroom bowls.

“It’s not that bad of an idea, Dean,” Sam called behind him.

~~~~~

Dean wasn’t  _ sulking _ . He didn’t sulk. He had every right to, given that he was surrounded by assholes, but he  _ wasn’t. _

“Dean, stop sulking,” Castiel said, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Oh, shut up,” Dean said, though he couldn’t put any heat into it. He clambered awkwardly up onto his plastic-coated bed, missing the feel of his memory foam  _ without _ an incontinence cover over it. “It’s been four and a half days, and you’re the only one who’ll even touch me.”

Castiel entered the bedroom and closed the door behind him, latching it quietly. Approaching the bed, he made an aborted step toward it before redirecting to the chair. Perching on the edge of it, he leaned forward, his forearms on his knees. “I didn’t realize you particularly wanted to be touched,” he remarked calmly. “Though humans, as a whole, are actually quite touch dependent, I suppose.”

“Dude,” Dean groused into his stiff pillow, waggling his tentacles as he tried to pull a blanket across himself. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

Whatever response Castiel had been about to make was cut off by Dean’s noise of complaint as he realized that the blankets had dried out significantly since that morning. The drag of the dry material over his prehensile limbs felt like sandpaper, making him shudder uncomfortably.

“Give me one minute,” Castiel said hastily, grabbing the pile of discarded bedding from the end of the mattress. “I’ll get these re-soaked. And here,” he added, grabbing a large stockpot of water from the floor, “stick your arms and legs in this until I get back.”

Awkwardly, Dean obeyed, curling as many limbs as he could into the pot on the bed while he lay on his side.

Castiel bustled away quickly, leaving Dean with his thoughts.

He wasn’t mad at Sam. Or Rowena, even—not really. He knew that if the roles were reversed, he’d be having a field day. But it felt a little different when he was the one who was suddenly a briny-smelling, boneless, Davy-Jones wannabe. And of  _ course _ Sam would assume it was to do with the (admittedly hot) cultist they’d bargained with to remove a fishy curse from a coastal town the week before. Dean hadn’t ever been shy about his unusual proclivities. But damn, tentacles were no fun when you couldn’t even take advantage of them! He couldn’t begin to guess at how sex even  _ worked _ in this body; and if he had been bangin’ the chick who could summon tentacles from nothing, then hot damn, he’d have been bragging about it, okay? Yes, he had scored with one of the oh-so-grateful virgins they’d freed from the compound that night, but what of it? She was regular-shaped!

With a grumpy—fine,  _ lonely— _ sigh, Dean rolled onto his back. “Shit—” he hissed quickly, realizing he’d tipped the bucket.

Luckily, Castiel was right there with his lightning fast angelic-reflexes, preventing Dean’s comfort-water from gushing all over the floor.

“Good catch,” Dean mumbled apologetically.

Castiel didn’t even mention it, moving the tub down to the floor and swiftly shaking one of the wet blankets out and over Dean instead. “There we go,” he said.

Dean relaxed into the mattress, oddly crinkly and wipe-clean as it was, and snuggled down under his damp fleece throw. It wasn’t too bad, as long as he stayed moist or kept a few limbs submerged. Yes, feeling like he was made of stiff jello was odd, but the curse (spell, voodoo, whatever) wasn’t painful, just kinda uncomfortable, and he could still think and feel just like a human. Just a human lacking the usual limbs and having gained a few more. But…it did feel like it was getting worse.

“Thanks,” he said quietly. “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel asked from where he was settling into the chair beside the bed.

“Have you noticed that I’m drying out quicker, today?”

For a moment, Castiel was quiet. Then, as Dean pushed up off the mattress once more to check out the angel’s reaction, he let out a low sigh. “It certainly does seem like your affliction is progressing rapidly.”

“Do you think…” Dean trailed off, unsure what he was asking, his mouth full of dread that knocked the words away.

Immediately, Castiel stood and took the two steps across to the mattress. He eased himself down onto it, his body angled toward Dean, his hands reaching out for Dean’s closest tentacle. “Dean, I promise you, we’ll fix this. I’m not going to give up. And as hilarious as he finds this, Sam isn’t either.”

Dean nodded swiftly, the rapid motion shaking a few drips of murky water from his clammy face. He looked down, watching the way Castiel held his tentacle, fearless. The suckers rested on Castiel’s skin, and although it felt very dry to Dean, he couldn’t say that it was unpleasant. It was amazing, he’d swiftly learned, how much he took touch for granted. No, not  _ that _ kinda touch. Well, okay, maybe that too. But even just the smallest interactions during day-today life: a clap on the shoulder, a handshake. A punch in the bicep from Sam when he was being annoying. A lingering touch to his arm from Castiel that they both never mentioned. Even the curled fingers of a grocery store clerk brushing his palm as Dean collected his change.

Humans were, as Castiel had said, so much more touch-centric than Dean had ever considered. This form, and people’s reactions to it, was isolating and eye-opening.

“You really don’t mind?” Dean said to Castiel, lifting the tip of the tentacle that the angel still held between his hands in an indication of what he was not saying.

Castiel ducked his eyes a little, trying to catch Dean’s. “Why would I mind?”

“I’m not—I mean, usually, I’m…” Dean shrugged awkwardly, causing the throw to slip from his shoulder. “I’m fucking gross, man. And I’m not  _ me. _ ”

“Of course you’re you,” Castiel scoffed quietly. He reached up, tucking the blanket back over Dean’s shoulder as he sat up next to him. After a moment’s consideration, he grasped Dean’s tentacle in his hands once more and drew it to his lap, regarding it as he drifted his fingers across the slick, dark-green skin. “Perhaps it’s easier for me to not be bothered by this than it is for Sam or Rowena. I am not so attached to seeing people as only one thing; after all, I change my appearance each time I’m forced to take a new vessel. I have a form of my own, of course, but you haven’t seen it, not since hell. Even so, I don’t think that makes you react to me differently.”

Dean listened quietly, something soothing about the angel’s explanation causing a blooming calm in his chest that he hadn’t felt in a week. “Yeah. You’re right. Our—”  _ What, exactly? Bond? Relationship? Connection?  _ “—friendship has never depended on what you look like,” Dean conceded. “You’d still be you in any vessel, or without one.”

Castiel tilted his head, a tiny, curious smile fleeting across his features, but gone as quickly as it came. “We will fix this, Dean,” he reiterated. “Just please tell me if you develop new symptoms, or if there is anything that I can do to help you be more comfortable.”

Dean wasn’t sure if he actually blushed, with the way his skin was, but he felt it inside nonetheless as he dropped his eyes down to the mattress. “I, uh, don’t suppose I could get a hug?”

Sudden, rumbling laughter wasn’t the reaction that Dean had hoped for, but Castiel’s arms rose, even as it tumbled out of him, wrapping warmly around Dean’s form, not squeamish in the slightest. “Oh, Dean,” he said, and Dean could hear the grin in his voice. “Of course you can. There’s one thing Sam is right about—you’re an idiot.”

“Hey,” Dean grumbled, though it didn’t stop him from raising a few tentacles and wrapping them around Castiel in turn. Dry, scratchy, and a bit uncomfortable, it was totally worth it just to feel a connection with another person. “Thanks, buddy,” he said after a long moment, shamelessly burying his face into Castiel’s trench coat. It smelled clean and airy, a wonderful contrast to the damp and salt Dean had been smelling for days. Contentedly, Dean wiggled a few more tentacles—he had several to spare, after all—up around Castiel, embracing him tightly.

Castiel cleared his throat slightly awkwardly. “Dean, I’m not sure what you know of cephalopod biology, but in most species one of their eight arms is a slightly different length to the others, and they use it to carry sperm.”

“Like, a dick arm?” Dean asked in bewilderment, raising his head from Castiel’s shoulder.

“Of a sort. The, uh, arm that you’re resting on my hip is a little shorter than the others.”

Whether his skin showed it or not, Dean was pretty sure his embarrassment was crystal clear as he gingerly drew his tentacles back in toward himself. “Yup, okay, yup, got it.”

~~~~~

“Ready to roll out? Or slither out, I guess?” Sam questioned, hoisting his duffle bag up to his shoulder.

Dean chose not to dignify that with an answer, delicately extending a tentacle forward to the water-filled mop bucket that was his next stop on the way to the garage. He  _ plopped _ his body from one to the next. A tentacle on his right flicked upward, spraying Sam with droplets, as if it was sticking up a metaphorical middle finger. Dean blinked at it—he’d swear they had minds of their own, sometimes.

“Now, Samuel,” Rowena chastised as she swished past. “Be nice to your brother. It’s not his fault he smells like a failing sushi restaurant.”

“The smell isn’t that bad,” Sam responded, heading for—much to Dean’s chagrin—the Impala. He’d drive with Rowena in Baby, and Dean and Cas would take the rattling Ford truck. The foot well was bigger, and Castiel had been able to make some adjustments for Dean’s comfort. “Besides,” Sam considered, looking back over his shoulder to where Dean was plopping into his next bucket. “I’m more concerned that he looks like the six-dollar sashimi special.”

“I hate you,” Dean deadpanned, concentrating so that he could slither a tentacle up to grip the door handle of the truck.

“I’ll get that,” Castiel offered, stepping around.

“I can do it,” Dean growled, twisting so that his body was in the angel’s way. With a roll of his eyes that seemed to travel all the way to his knees, Castiel sighed and moved back to the driver’s side of the beige truck.

While Dean struggled with his door, Castiel leaned on his open one and turned to Sam and Rowena. “Are we sure that this is a good idea?” he questioned. “We’re heading straight back to the place where someone—or something—did this to Dean, and we don’t even know their motives.”

“Honestly, it’s probably a terrible idea,” Sam agreed. “But it’s the only one we have. And at least, this time, we’re going in knowing what to expect. You could say we’re…well-armed.”

“Fuck you!” Dean yelled as he wrenched open the door with a violent judder.

Castiel sighed again, sliding into the driver’s seat. “You go ahead, Sam. We’ll follow.”

As Sam ducked into the driver’s seat of the Impala and started her up, Dean stood staring dumbfounded at where the passenger seat of Castiel’s ’87 F-250 should be. “That,” he hissed indignantly, “is a trash can!”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel said calmly. “A trash can full of water.”

“You  _ asshole, _ ” Dean whined, looking down to see where Castiel had securely bolted the black, cut-off trash can to the floor and sealed it around the edges with silicone caulk. “You absolute jerk.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel repeated mildly. “Now, get into your dumpster pool and be quiet. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

Dean slunk down into the water, allowing it to wash over him until he was mostly submerged, his head peeking up over the top to peer at the dashboard. He wouldn’t admit that it worked well. He certainly wouldn’t admit that it was kind of comfortable. The water felt…softer, almost, on his skin, and it smelled like—

“Hey,” Dean questioned, turning to look at Castiel as he pulled out of the garage onto the road behind Baby’s tail lights. “Did you put salt in this?”

“Yes.” Castiel nodded. “I had a hunch that as the affliction progresses, you were becoming more resistant to freshwater. So, I thought that adding just enough salt to mimic the average composition of seawater might make you more comfortable.”

“Huh,” said Dean. “How’d you know it was going to work? You could’ve poisoned me or some shit.”

Castiel smiled, gazing serenely ahead at the marks on the road. “I tested it on one of your tentacles while you were sleeping.”

“See,” Dean grumbled haughtily. “This is why I don’t let you watch me sleep on the regular, bud. You’re creepy.”

“I’m creepy?” Castiel looked away from the road long enough to raise an eyebrow at the prehensile limb Dean was poking him in the arm with.

“Alright, alright. Checkmate. This time.”

Castiel’s smirk seemed to indicate that Dean won less often than he thought, but he said nothing more, focusing on the long drive ahead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry Dean, I'm sure Cas can help you figure out the workings of that shorter tentacle, sometime ;)
> 
> Tentacletober prompts used: Prompt 12 – “Get those things away from me!”, Prompt 14 – Tentacle Hugs
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! Do you think that Sam and Rowena are being a little harsh with Dean, or do you think that in their place, Dean would be much worse?
> 
> \- Mal <3


End file.
